Avenger Assembled

"No! NOOOOOO!" When the ranger was teleported out of the circle, suddenly Volvur's hell-scorched ghost began to writhe and howl - smoking from her spectral limbs as reddish phantom chains rose out of the Earth and wrapped themselves around her shuddering frame. "Not back to the pit! UNFERTH!" She screamed her lover's name in despair as the chains suddenly dragged her beneath the soil, Unferth howling in despair as he reached for her - her ghostly fingers passing right through his as she was dragged below into the realm that awaited her. Howling with a grief that knew no bottom, Unferth clawed desperately at the grassy soil as if to drag her back by main force. And then Medea's smartphone snapped a picture. "Ha! Did you see the looks on their faces?" She laughed and took another picture, looking very pleased with herself. "All that tormented true love and all it got them was an eternity of agony! People are idiots. All right, I have to admit, Devil Ray was right, these things really do come in handy!" She put the phone away and grinned at Fast-Forward, offering her wrists to him as if they were chained up. "All right, Dickie, I'm feeling charitable after that, and you got me fair and square. Take me away!"

It had become a beautiful sunny afternoon by now, and Carolyn Psion, in a moment's mercy by the cops, was sitting in an air-conditioned STAR Squad van with two female officers as her escort, power nullifier cuffs on her wrists like they belonged there. She was still holding baby Gimel, who by now was looking around with wide buggy eyes that reminded Paige of baby Juliana, who had been a rather unprepossessing-looking baby until her powers had kicked in. "Aunt Paige. I suppose you're here for the baby." It wasn't really a question. "When can I see Frances?" Overhead, a small craft was flying down to land on the grassy lawn nearby - one of the famous shuttles built and flown by the Atoms. ---- "Very strange," agreed Callie Summers shortly. "Jump Psion has been the weakest link of the Psions for some years now - perhaps he has simply been indecisive." The look on her face showed what she thought of that. "Will trust you will continue handling situation. As for your plans for the Psions..." Whatever she had to say on that was interrupted by new arrivals. "Ah, the clean-up crew." She watched as the Atom shuttle passed by on the roof, then tapped the side of an invisible 'wall' on the roof that opened up into the cockpit of what looked like a mini-jump jet, one still otherwise concealed from sight. "I'll fly you back myself."

"Kitten, sometimes when I look at you, I see that young lady that wrecked my car...but it's usually the little girl who used to bake me pies in her Easy Bake Oven, or the baby who would only go to sleep to Freedom Friends reruns." Once they were in the elevator, he looked at her and said, "A parent never stops seeing their child as their baby. Even if she's a big-time world-saving hero." He winked again as they walked outside into the lobby, just as Yves walked into the grand hotel lobby, just as Steve put his smartphone away. Having never met Vector, Steve had no interest in the young woman and her dad - instead all his attention was focused on the shadow of the past that had just walked in through the front doors. The Omegadrone in civilian gear. The free drone. He pushed his way through the crowd towards her, instantly recognizable for what he was (for the select few who knew); a hulking brown-skinned figure, face and hands dotted with the scars of implanted cybernetic armor. Another Omegadrone.

"Hmph. Come with me, my harpies!" Circling him like so many ravening birds, Frost's angelic escort followed the icy-cold avatar of plague and famine out of the gigantic horse stall. Outside, he narrowed red eyes and looked around the architecture of Heaven with a critical gaze. Figuring that everyone around him was immune to diseases, Frost struck a match and lit a cigarette that he summoned from the very stuff of Creation itself. "This is difficult business. Very difficult," he opined. "Service to God of the Nazarene lacks the material amenities of the other gods. If we were in Valhalla-" "Actually," replied one of Frost's escort, "there are gardens of perfected earthly delights all through Heaven. One may know the taste of the finest food, the touch of the finest flesh, forever more. But, ah..." The angel, who was a lovely thing, especially now that her skin had begun to turn a white that matched Frost's even inside his parka. "Those things are denied you, Dmitri. You know why." "Ah yes," replied Frost, studying the burning flame at the end of his cigarette. "My sins against humanity had completely slipped my mind." He smiled thinly. "This place is like Russia. I admire that."

12+12=24, failed by 16 Well, how unfortunate for me! I believe I'll at least _try_ with an HP... Failed by 15 instead! Random number generator, you are a sly boots! OK - DC 15 Concentration check to keep up the Morph... Where were you when I needed you, nat-20? Same DC for the Armor... SIGH.

I like the idea of putting the hedonism thing to bed, yes - she is no longer the 'failed god', but Moira Morley, action heroine! (Albeit with whatever supername you wind up giving her - I'd suggest something generically powerhousey). Don't worry too much about making up for the mistakes of the past, just build a future for the character.

"You do not fear me. Good." The dark one's voice was echoy, like some of the ghosts Kimber had met, but clearly came from a solid throat for all that. "Fleet-Footed," he said with a short, respectful bow to Eve, "I am Scavros the Scarred of the Silver Tree. I have come to your realm to ask for the aid of you and your boon companions." He seemed to take Wraith and Ghost Girl both in stride, inhuman as they both looked to the right sort of eyes - surely there were sights far more terrifying than them in his own native realm. "We Furions have lately taken a mighty prisoner - a shadow-priestess second only to Nightmare Doom in the ranks of Madrigal's servants. She claims a dread secret that she will reveal only to the Fleet-Footed herself."

Psychic Werewolf PL: 10 (150) Abilities: 6 + 6 + 12 + 2 + 6 + 2 = 34 pp STR 16 (+3) DEX 16 (+3) CON 22 (+6) INT 12 (+1) WIS 16 (+3) CHA 12 (+1) Combat: 10 + 10 = 20 pp ATK: +5 (+8 Melee) DEF: +8 (+3 Dodge, +4 Base, +2 flat-footed) Init: +7 Grapple: +12/+16 w/Move Object/+24 w/Tactile TK Knockback: -6/-3 Saves: 1 + 3 + 4 = 8 pp TOU +12/+6 (+6 Force Field, +6 Con) FORT +7 (+6 Con, +1) REF +7 (+3 Dex, +3) WILL +7 (+3 Wis, +4) Skills: 40 r = 10 pp Concentration 4 (+5) Perform (Folk Songs) 4 (+5) Language 1 (English, French [base]) Notice 7 (+10, SM) Search 4 (+5, SM) Sense Motive 7 (+10, SM) Stealth 6 (+9) Survival 7 (+10, SM) Feats: 12 pp Attack Focus: Melee (3) Dodge Focus (3) Evasion Second Chance (Concentration checks) Skill Mastery (Notice, Search, Sense Motive, Survival) Takedown Attack Track Uncanny Dodge (olfactory) Powers: 45 + 1 + 13 + 1 + 2 + 5 = 67 pp Container 9 (Martel Heritage, Extra: Duration [Permanent]) [45PP] Firebird Array 13 (26 pp, PFs: Alternate Powers 6) [32PP] BE: Enhanced STR 18 (to STR 34/+12) {18} + Super-Strength 4 (Effective STR 54, Heavy Load 23 tons) {8} {18+8=26/26} AP: Damage 12 (Extra: Alternate Save [Will], PFs: Improved Crit 2) {26/26} AP: Move Object 8 (Effective STR 40, Heavy Load: 3 tons, Extra: Range [Perception], PFs: Precise, Subtle) {26/26} AP: Drain Wisdom 12 (Extra: Autofire, PFs: Improved Crit 2) {26/26} AP: Communication 6 (20 miles [mental], Extra: Area, PF: Subtle) {13] + Mind Reading 10 (Extras: Mental, Secondary Effect, Flaw: Duration [instant/Lasting]) {11} {13+11=24/26} AP: Comprehend 2 (speak to and understand animals) {4} + Mind Control 10 (Extra: Instant Command, Flaw: Action [Full], PF: Subtle) {21} {4+21=25/26} Flight 1 (10 MPH/100 feet per move, PF: Subtle) [3PP] Force Field 6 [6PP] Super-Senses 4 (Danger Sense [mental], Psionic Awareness 2 [mental], Uncanny Dodge [mental]) [4PP] Leaping 1 (x2, Running Long Jump: 26 ft, Standing Long Jump: 18 ft, Vertical Jump: 6 ft) [1PP] Regeneration 12 (Recovery Bonus 3 [+9 total], Bruised 3 [no action], Injured 6 [no action], PF: Regrowth) [13PP] Speed 1 (10 MPH/100 feet per move) [1PP] Super-Senses 2 (Acute Olfactory, Low-Light Vision) [2PP] Strike 3 (PFs: Mighty, Variable Descriptor 1 [bludgeoning/piercing/slashing]) [5PP] costs abilities 34 + combat 20 + saves 8 + skills 10/40 + feats 12 + powers 67 = 150 pts -------------------------- Design Notes: So OK, this one time Eve Martel and Wendy Go got together - as you do, and through a combination of Martel science and a little Northern magic produced a baby - born with one parent's psychic powers and the other's enhanced, animalistic physique, she is Loup-Garou - a proud member of True North Beyond! Somebody's got to protect the Quebec of the future from witch's spells and wood trolls, especially after global warming has freed creatures from underneath the ice with a terrible hunger... Welcome back to the Omnidimensional Oddball Offspring Orchestra, folks! I built this character as a way of putting my hand back into the future offspring of PCs business - and because this concept is a lot of fun. I've built Loup-Garou as being something like Jean Grey and Wolverine's kid - she can get by just fine as a PL 7 living weapon type, hunting using her formidable senses, biting and clawing (or just punching) her way through formidable enemies, and sucking up a lot of punishment with that excellent regeneration. When she wants to, though, she can activate a blazing red aura like her other mother's and transform herself into a flying, glowing psychic powerhouse! Her psionic abilities are primarily built around making her Psylocke as a werewolf; a pretty formidable threat! I think this build could work as a PC, though you might want to add Ritualist and Arcane Lore. Why? Because 'traditional' werewolves weren't bite victims at all, but powerful wizards who performed black rites (perhaps in Satan's name!) to summon a wolfskin to take as their shape. She makes a fine surprise for enemies who are expecting a wolf-woman to be a mindless animal, or a psychic not to have some serious physical heft. She's PL 7 defensively and PL 5.5 offensively without her powers, making her a good person to have at your side in a good old-fashioned mundane barfight. Not too social, though - not many people to talk to out there in the woods.

Following up on his earlier strike, Caradoc flipped his double-edged weapon around and smashed the Curator-entity across the face with the blunt end, hard enough that he felt augmented flesh give way beneath his powerful blows as entropically-powered steel made nanites boil to ash. He was acutely aware of how vulnerable he was as the most natural target for the rampaging technological god before them - his weapon was so far the only thing that had managed to hurt this warped fusion of man and machine, and he knew from long and bitter experience that the terrifying wounds it inflicted were unique. But as long as he was conscious and armed, he would do all he could to stop this terrible fusion of machine and flesh. He didn't try to speak to the man inside, knowing full well the horror that it brought the trapped soul within to hear pleas for awareness that could never be answered.

"Ma!" The gloves were off now, the fight having spun way out of everyone's control. Fast-Forward zipped back into the room and tagged the fake Samedi (finally), grabbing time all around the phony god and bringing it nearly to a crashing halt. Samedi wasn't out of the fight, not with his eyes widening and deep voice extended to an impossibly low profundo, but he sure as hell was on pause! If he harms one goddamned hair on Will's head I'm gonna rip that hat off and shove it somewhere the sun don't shine! he thought Paige's way. Meanwhile, Clock Queen drove her swords straight down into the sand at her feet and yelled "Goddamn wretched piece of-" And then suddenly, in a flash of black light, Baron Samedi (or at least his imposter) vanished from the room, leaving them alone in their hard-won apartment!

Fast-Forward Attack vs. not!Samedi http://orokos.com/roll/167703 = 19! OK, the gloves are off now. HP! http://orokos.com/roll/167704 = 23 with the HP! That goes over his defense by +2, adding +1 to the DC. He makes a Reflex save vs DC 21. http://orokos.com/roll/167705 And he is slowed, wow. OK, Clock Queen is bound and helpless - she makes an attack vs. the Snare that binds her. 7+15=22 = it takes 10 and with 17 she started to cut her way out of it, slooowly. Samedi runs away!

That will work, Corse - go ahead and post IC! Temperance is up

Standard Action: +5 All-Out Attack the Curator http://orokos.com/roll/167688 = 32 DC 32 Tou save there DC to hit Harrier stays at 17

"Darwin was a hive of organized crime until that Harbing case last year." The last time a serious bit of meta-crime in the area had involved an American, Yves remembered from her briefing, had been the kidnapping of American talking head and hero booster Harold Harbing back in 2013. "The local crime lord, Leigh Newman, has a real yen for the Terminus, so there may be a theft risk. He's out on bail these days pending trial, but he's still got a pretty strong following in the Darwin gangs. Transnational, too. A lot of crap moves through Darwin to get up into Indonesia. We've got authorization from Canberra and the Aussie supers, but they've got all their people on the west coast dealing with that Grue business. You're going to be on your own out there," he admitted. "The local Aussie hero is called the Larrakite. Street protector type, spends most of his time fighting human smugglers. We'll set you up with a meeting if necessary. - "Your mom's resting up at home, and she deserves it. Something about needing to keep an eye on things while everyone's in Perth...and maybe that All Saints marathon on Channel 7." Michael grinned. "One thing you'll find when you get married, which I'm confident you'll do in the next five years," he added with a wink, "is that sometimes you need spaces in your togetherness." Being a gentleman, he left her with the big suite bathroom to change into her evening gown while he went to don his slightly out-of-fashion suit and tie for the occasion. When he was dressed, something that as usual he managed to get done in record time, he called through the door, "I'll wait here, kitten! I'm not too old to show up with the prettiest girl at the auction on my arm!" - Steve tapped away at the buttons on his smartphone, like so many things he owned a present from Gina that'd she'd bought without consulting him ("Because I knew you'd say no!"). SITTING IN LOBBY. CROWD LARGE AND VIGOROUS. PUT MONEY IN SAFE PLACE. With its inverted climate and alien culture, Darwin was a strange place - but it was infinitely more like Freedom City than the Terminus. He would adapt just time. WALKED FROM AIRPORT. He read her response and tapped back in his slow, methodical two-fingered poke. I AM WEARING THE SUIT WITH THE RED TIE. BLACK SOCKS AND BLACK SHOES.

The Terminus High above the Silver Tree, deep in the cold red space of the Terminus itself, darkness billowed from the nothingness. It formed first into a black crescent that glowed with an impossible black radiance, then from the crescent there swelled a long spear with a pentagram at the tip. From the crescent resolved the figure of a pale-skinned woman, the spear in one hand and the crescent of shadow billowing behind her like a cape - her eyes deep voids of blackness as she looked down at the world of the Furions beneath her. Clutching her weapon, which was Starkiller, the slayer of suns in her hand, she waited in the void until the Furions came for her - and when they surrounded her, weapons glowing, she threw aside Starkiller and declared in a booming voice that resounded even in the true vacuum of the Terminus. "I am Tarva the Terrible! I bring grave tidings from the streets of Nihilor. But I will speak only to the Fleet-Footed!" --- March 1, 2014 As happens more often than you'd think, a swirling dimensional portal opened above the Martel Castle suspended itself a full hundred stories above Freedom City. Out stepped a man, if that was a man, all in black - the darkness of his garb marred by silvery lines that criss-crossed his muscular body in an abstract pattern and by his facemask - a white goat's face like that of Baphomet himself! Wielding a staff that glowed with searing red flame at the tip, he folded his arms expectantly and awaited in cold silence the arrival of his host and her escorts - for this was Scavros the Scarred, darkest and most terrifying of the Furions!

"Yeah, well, we're a couple of badass criminals, we can't let some two-bit robot punks chase us off. We..." Bravado in the words or not, Richard didn't sound like he really believed them, like the heroes, he just looked tired. "Thanks," he went on, taking the first aid kit and dabbing at his knuckles. "As for allies, you'd better hope we aren't the only ones who switch sides, because we...Archer!" Fast-Forward's eyes widened in shock, images of his erstwhile friend-nemesis flashing through his mind at super-speed. He was suddenly, acutely aware of that negligently-concealed urban fortress in Greenbank - the first target of anyone familiar with the superheroic defenders of Freedom City. "Baby, I'll be right back," he promised Paige, kissing her pale cheek and giving her the first aid kit before he disappeared in a zip. Greenbank was just across the river from Lincoln; twenty minutes by car even on a congested day, less than a second for Richard to run at full speed. Seconds ticked by, then nearly a minute, his growing alarm pouring across the link to Paige - and then suddenly Fast-Forward was back, the tall, skinny Richard cradling in his arms an unconscious figure in black and red. Ethan Keller, aka Archer, was battered and bloody, a bow still clutched in his muscular hands. Richard himself was uncharacteristically silent before he looked down at his own bloody, dusty hands. "The wall fell on him, I think, the wall fell on him and so they couldn't see him. I had to dig him out. The others, they were just...they were just..." He shot a look at Paige and said, "FORCE OPS is dead. And those damned things are all over Greenbank."

Darwin, Australia March 1, 2014 They all had different reasons for being there. Steve Murdock, not a man who traveled much, had come across the picture of the sword during one of his long, sleepless nights on the Internet. Discussing it with Gina hadn't been easy, especially once she'd divined his true intent, but the Omegadrone could be a very persuasive man. The Sword of the Liberator was indeed an ancient Atlantean artifact; one so old that it predated whatever long ago branching point had come between his world and the world of Gina Evans. Wielded by a champion of justice, broken by Steelguard during his conquest, the sword had been targeted again and again in every world since. Surely he had to try and buy it! And so it was that with a very large check deposited in his name through his extremely wealthy girlfriend (who had been entirely in favor of this), Steve had boarded a private flight down to Darwin, Northern Territory for the estate auction of one Clement Johns, a wealthy collector of antiquities who had passed away weeks earlier. He was at the auction site hours early, sitting in the vast lobby of the Skycity Darwin, once again reading through the manual of auction procedures that Gina had written up and sent with him. With his scarred face and hands, deep brown skin, and new suit and tie, he looked more like the bodyguards of the wealthy Australians filing into the casino/hotel than a bidder at the forthcoming auction. --- Argonaut had been in debriefings before, some of them very personal indeed, but this one (given by one of her usual colleagues, the thoroughly Scandinavian-American Sven Johnson) was something different. "As you know, Yves, during the 1993 invasion five Omegadrone transports were deployed against Australia and New Zealand. Of those seven, _four_ were sent to Perth. Australian heroes on the ground during the invasion reported that the drones were targeting the mansion of Clement Johns, a wealthy collector of antiquities, even abandoning standard targets to seek Johns out in particular. Johns was investigated and cleared afterwards by the Federal Police, but we've recently unearthed accounts that the drones that hit his house were looking for one thing in particular - an Atlantean artifact called 'The Sword of the Liberator.' We need you to get down to Australia, using our offshore holdings, and try and find out what's so special about this sword..." --- "I am so proud of you!" said Michael Fields, smiling as he looked his daughter over. They had a family suite at the hotel-casino, giving them privacy to talk about her career. "First the Freedom League, now back home with your old man and a costume in your suitcase!" Vector had been called back to Australia for a crisis - rumors of Grue infiltration in Perth had called many of the motherland's defenders home, but she'd had time to surprise her father while passing through Darwin for an evening of bonding before her due date across the continent the next day. "You may not like the evening much," he confessed to her. "The firm had a contract with Johns so I'm representing our interests, but this is mostly about seeing and being seen. Feel free to skip out and wander the casino floor, Ms. Old Enough to Gamble," he added with a wink.

Sunset found a 'ping' inside a nearly featureless, flat-brown building that, with its jagged tip looked like a snapped-off marble column scaled up to twenty stories tall. With Tomorrow at her back, she found the building's featureless appearance was something of a misnomer. As she walked inside, the 'lobby' lit up with a pleasant, albeit spotty blue glow, from hexagonal panels that appeared as if by magic from the walls and floor. Tomorrow's murmured "Fascinating!" didn't obscure the automated voice that began speaking to Sunset in a slow, warm tone in a language she didn't understand, sounding vaguely like the automated speaker system in some sort of public transit station. As they followed the patchy trail of lights (some of which had gone missing) deeper into the building, a distinctly organic scent reached Sunset's nostrils - and then she came upon the corpse! The animal was nothing that had existed on Earth in her own era; its features something between reptilian and amphibian, at least those features that were left. Only the skin remained, stretched across a doorway like a macabre greeting, the glossy brown 'fur' on the surface bus with ants and other familiar creatures - whatever this was had been skinned and hung up only recently.

A moment later, with a great audible rip, the sky gave way another few inches - and a group of a hundred poured out of the Lincoln rift. Fast-Forward lost track of time in the subsequent melee; a rare feat for the super-speedster. His powers meant that he tended to see the world, or at least the world in a crisis, in flashes of stopped time, something amplified forever in his memory by the stress and carnage of the battle itself. His own fighting was all collisions with fast-moving objects, smashing the drones apart with super-fast punches that came so fast the robots themselves were standing still; blows he threw again and again until his knuckles bled beneath the stress of breaking through cold black steel again and again and again. He'd never been in a fight like this before; and knew he never would be again. In retrospect, he remembered moments of the battle, like freeze-frames on a VCR's playback. Wail turning his head and bellowing as he shattered a horde of descending drones. Jump alternating between punching through drones and rescuing civilians from the horde, vanishing again and again as she pulled people towards a safe zone, and Jive fighting a horde of killer robots with no powers besides his fists, his feet, and his mind. And Hologram, his darling Paige, at the center of it all (at least in his mind), surrounded by a black, spidery filament of her power unleashed as she helped tear apart the drones surrounding her like a living lightning storm; if a storm was black, and cold, and terrifying in its own right. He could never be scared of Paige, but he could be scared _for_ her - the drones seeming to pay her extra-special attention. And then, all of a sudden, after what turned out to be hours of fighting instead of minutes, they were alone on the Lincoln street - alone but for the sounds of battle elsewhere in the city and the shriek of Omegadrones in the sky, the citizens having either taken cover, fled, or holed up behind them in the very bank that Paige and Richard had come to rob that morning! Windows smashed and buildings smoldering around them, this was no super-crime scene - this was a quiet instant in a war zone. Richard didn't hesitate to make a beeline for Paige, who'd sheltered behind another car, and put his arms around her wordlessly. Out loud, he called, "We...they're mostly in the center of the city. Where Freedom Hall used to be," he went on, speaking of a building that had been there that morning. "Those...holes are all over the place!"

http://orokos.com/roll/167209 = 18! So he is bruised and dazed, oh well.

http://orokos.com/roll/167198 = 13 for Clock Queen... http://orokos.com/roll/167199 = and 3. So she IS snared!

he auto-passes the Taunt with his +15 Will save. Reflex vs. 17 http://orokos.com/roll/167194 = 9 OK, so he saves vs. the full effect, so another Reflex vs. 17 http://orokos.com/roll/167196 = 21! So he is unsnared.

Wrapped in his blue parka, face shadowed even in the light of Heaven, the red-eyed Frost seemed downright sepulchral as he dismounted his horse - which had distinctly grown a wicked set of razor-sharp incisors that faded as his boots hit the ground. "You have handed me the lives of tens of millions - I have done all I could to see that death and suffering came only to the deserving. I may be but a man, but I could do no less." he went on, biting back a snarl at the angels. His accompanying angels seemed to have adopted something of his predatory mein, floating around the horse of Famine like so many hungry raptors. "You need not speak to me as a child of these modern ages," he added more sedately. "I know the taste of want - and as long as this horse is mine, then as few as possible will know it too."

Blod and Wraith arrived to find a scene of death on the roof, but not necessarily the one they were expecting. Saturnalia Roman, instantly recognizable as the famous daughter of the legendary supervillain, was in the process of administering CPR to a frail, aged man in the remains of a suit and tie - a man barely recognizable as August Roman himself. All around her were the battered bodies of private security, who looked like they'd been tossed around like chips in a hurricane. The Meta-Grue himself had regained his Gruen form and was kept at bay with a look of deep frustration on his face, calling over the sounds of battle that arose from further down the rig, "Pulling his limbs from each other would be a fair justice for what your family has done to me!" He folded his muscular arms over each other, a red-skinned, muscular humanoid who looked deeply frustrated. "You see!" he demanded of Wraith and Blod as they arrived, evidently having pulled them into his circle of trust. "His weak human heart will deny me my vengeance! How I despise this planet!" --- Down below it turned out to be easy enough to shut the broadcast down; the systems in the control booth were specifically designed for that purpose. Between the systems themselves and the tapes loaded within, it was going to be easy enough to make all the charges stick that they wanted - whoever had designed this room had designed the perfect control center, but evidently the Circuit had never considered the possibility of capture, or at least hadn't considered it well enough to deal with this situation. They had them!

http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/4406202/ Not quite!